


Amplify

by Eyrdamun



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrdamun/pseuds/Eyrdamun
Summary: In situations like these, Fushimi had no tongue, and Yata's hearing robbed him of his sight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Knowing that Yata canonically has sensitive hearing, of course I had to use it in this sort of way.

It wasn’t the first time they had sex or had done anything remotely sexual. They’d been together for a while now, and they already had their awkward nervous first time. And it had been strange how quiet Fushimi had been then, as if he had no tongue nor vocal chords with which to vocalize his pleasure.

They later find out, after wonderful repetition, that his silence was a constant, just like Yata’s own more honest reactions were, throughout each and every which way they have had each other.

It, too, was a constant how, in the middle of the night, they would quietly press against each other, a goodnight kiss that sometimes escalated so silently into something much, much more. Something welcomed, something warm, something that left Yata high on the hormones rushing through his system and that left him floating on top of covers as he held onto Fushimi’s hand.

Something like right now, he thought as Fushimi’s hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer yet not close enough so that his back could meet Fushimi’s chest. It was a simple action, but the obviously conscious way his breath would caress the nape of Yata’s neck spoke volumes. He even thought he heard his name being murmured, but the sound had been buried under the susurrus of fabric brushing as Fushimi’s fingers traced patterns that followed the lines of Yata’s abdominal muscles. He relaxed under the touch, an invitation for Fushimi to go on, and one which Fushimi took it for what it was.

His palm flattened against his lower abs and brushed their way towards the hip that wasn’t pressed against the mattress to lightly push. There had been no strength behind the pressure, but Yata moved with it anyway, lying on his back as he slowly blinked, before his head turned to the side to look into Fushimi’s eyes.

They stared at each other for a second or two before Fushimi leaned towards him, and Yata met his lips halfway. He could feel them quirking up into a small smile molding onto Yata’s skin, so softly smoldering that his breathing slowed down. Fushimi’s did too, the fanning across his cheek being more than enough indication, but the sound of it driving the point home.

Fushimi was always so silent that his respiration and the friction between fabrics felt deafening.

And it always sounded so much as if Fushimi were praying Yata’s name.

At this distance, Yata saw the other’s eyes open wide, drinking him in as seemed to be their favourite activity. He knew Fushimi could see him even with so little light drifting in the room, even without his glasses, and Yata’s lips followed the example of the ones pressing against them to mirror their smile.

He noticed the flickering in Fushimi’s eyes just before the hand that was sandwiched between their torsos reached up to caress the smaller man’s cheek as it trailed to the back of Yata’s head. The pads burrowed their way in his hair, and he felt the fingers at his hip twitch. The subconscious action made Yata snicker into their kiss before he fully turned, wrapped his arms around Fushimi and squeezed.

Fushimi made no sound still, but Yata could feel the vibrations of a happy noteless tone against his mouth.

Maybe he had purred noiselessly? Fushimi was always so full of skills.

He couldn’t even laugh at his own joke before the hand at his hip raked its nails up his spine and under his shirt. They pulled him chest to chest, and clawed at the neck of his shirt from beneath the fabric. It caused the cloth to crumple under him and for Yata to pull away and laugh, baring his neck to Fushimi’s teeth. They scraped at the skin found there, catching and pinching the skin lightly. Yata’s laugh morphed into a pleased sigh.

“I can’t take off my shirt with you like this.”

Fushimi pulled away far enough to be able to study him through a veil of lashes. Pensively, he returned his nails to Yata’s skin. They dragged against his shoulder blades and his upper vertebrae, and Yata was sure, was certain, that the hushed noise as they moved under the fabric was deliberately trailing closely along the path carved by Fushimi as if it were an extension of Fushimi’s hand. Once, he would have been embarrassed by how his body was processing the sound. Now though, he bared the reaction to his lover, and allowed him to take advantage of it.

Finding his conclusion, Fushimi merely said, “Then it can wait for later.”

Again, he swooped to take the skin of Yata’s neck in his mouth. It was an agreeable conclusion, Yata decided, as he pressed his head deeper into the pillow, making way for the greedy mouth to latch right under his jaw. Fushimi clearly wanted to leave a mark, but abstained, and -

Fushimi’s nose was right by Yata’s ear.

It breathed out and Yata buried his head far deeper into the pillow as the exhaled air left a trail of hot kisses against him, joining the second hand, conjured by the friction of skin rubbing fabric, caressing his back like a second mouth. Yata’s eyes lidded, and his hands awoke to caress the lithe body pressing against him.

Fushimi once said they felt like lava, that the red aura that had once inhabited them were still there and turning his blood into magma. Yata had understood completely what he had meant then, finding that same sensation buzzing under Fushimi’s skin, and echoed in his own blood vessels when he made contact with the taller man, when they pressed together in ways that Yata was sure should’ve caused them to melt.

He wondered briefly if tonight, too, would be one of those nights as he pulled their lower halves into contact.

Probably not, though, since Fushimi’s touch still seemed measured enough, and the sound of his breathing was beginning to echo in the shell of Yata’s ear. Like water, it rippled about him, flowing in him and filling him. And like blood, it rushed in his veins and coagulated in small corners under his flesh to reverberate against it in the most intimate of caresses.

He had complained that Fushimi was quiet once, but he himself had yet to do any more than just sigh a tiny groan out at the sensation. It had been enough at the moment though, because Fushimi pulled back and took off his own shirt as initiation.

Yata followed, movements a bit more sluggish than he’d care to admit, but not soon enough for Fushimi’s taste. He didn’t whine about it, just let his hands skitter along the newly revealed flesh. The pads of his fingers found a nipple and his lips descended to taste Yata’s earlobe just as he finished taking off his shirt and threw it to the ground. Still, he remained silent as he pushed the smaller man down and into the mattress.

_Ah, so he still has a tongue._

It flickered against the skin caught between Fushimi’s teeth, and Yata swore that under normal circumstances Fushimi could do this without even making a sound, but there was one as the nose breathed out against his temple, and it followed the motions of the wet muscles slithering against his skin. The only thing Yata could do to retaliate was to clamp down on Fushimi’s shoulder, much less gently than he had been bitten.

In return, Fushimi sighed against his ear, the sound traveling down his vertebrae, and by pure reflex Yata’s hips twitched forward against Fushimi.

And Fushimi ground back as he blew another sigh’s air into the shell of his ear that magnified the friction against Yata’s groin.

“Saruhiko,” he whispered. His voice was low and husky, and he could feel Fushimi reveling in it as he shuddered in the smaller man’s grip.

Fushimi’s nose trailed against Yata’s skin as he chased the lips that had called for him, the air that left his lungs turning into waves of shivers crossing Yata’s skin as if it were a pilgrimage. The muffled crumpling of the sheets resonating the exhaled breath but with chants of Yata’s own name as Fushimi mouthed it against his lips.

He wondered how Fushimi could do it, how he could move his mouth without saying anything like that, how he could project his voice onto all his movements, and still make it feel as if it had been shouted against his flesh. Either way, Yata’s eyes slit, and they were blinded so he relied on his hands to map out the body above him as the sound kept clouding more and more his sight.

He didn’t need to see.

He didn’t need to see to know that Fushimi was still watching him with pupils blown wide to capture every single detail of Yata. He didn’t need to see to be certain that his own eyes matched Fushimi’s. He didn’t need to see to sense the growing pressure in his boyfriend’s core, since the sound of their movements growing in speed- a muted noise that Fushimi’s hands amplified somehow- and Fushimi’s own breath becoming shorter were more than enough indication. They snaked up to Yata’s ears and were a welcomed intrusion to his brain, sending electrical signals down his nerves and fooling him into thinking there was much more contact than there actually was. They fooled him into thinking there was more brushing against his skin and that Fushimi was so much larger and all surrounding than he truly was.

He didn’t need to see to be aware of Fushimi knowing exactly what he was doing to Yata, because even if Fushimi was silent, and his actions oh so quiet, if one knew how to tune his hearing as Yata could, if one knew where to touch like Yata did to feel the “I love you”s thrumming in Fushimi’s veins at the rhythm of his drumming heart, they would find him a cacophony.

Fushimi swooped down to kiss him again as he grinded down, and Yata pushed back as soon as their lips made contact. One of his hands traveled upwards to bury itself in Fushimi’s dark hair as the other aided the taller man’s motion to bring their lower bodies together.

Yata tried to groan Fushimi’s name into his mouth, but the other’s tongue slid past his teeth to dance with Yata’s tongue and turned the name formed by the older’s vocal chords into something more feral and low. Something still so quiet for outsiders, but so loud it vibrated inside Yata’s skull and joined the sensations stroked by all the other muted noises surrounding him. And the sound that was inside of him was Fushimi, and Fushimi’s hands, and lips, and they consumed all the flesh bared to him as the real Fushimi drank in Yata’s noises as if to make up for the lack of his own sound, as his real hands alternated between caressing and holding his hips to make it easier to grind.

He wanted to say his eyes were closed now and not robbed of sight because of the shaky breaths fanning against his face. But, as usual, they must have been just half lidded, fixed on Fushimi’s face without really seeing it. It felt as if Yata needed to make up for it, so the hand on Fushimi’s waist gripped it so hard that he’d probably bruise, just how Fushimi liked it, and the other one pulled Fushimi’s hair so that his throat was left defenseless.

It actually never was, a fact that made Yata swell with pride since it signified that he only got to do this because Fushimi himself wanted it. Still, he sank his teeth into it again and Fushimi sighed.

Yata awkwardly tilted his head to catch more of the noise without letting go of the skin, and he was certain that the breath expelled from Fushimi’s lungs just now had the shape of his name coloured in amusement. After all, Fushimi humoured him and turned his own head towards Yata’s offered ear, kissing the temple, biting and licking the shell, all the while assuring that all the possible sounds were caught by Yata’s sharp ears.

They didn’t last much longer, Yata reaching his peak with Fushimi’s name on his tongue and moaning against the other man’s skin, and Fushimi lasting only seconds longer but with the thunderous sound of the prayer of Yata’s name in the form of fabric and panting breaths.

In all honesty, it hadn’t been loud, but it had been the only thing Yata could hear in the otherwise silent room.

Fushimi slumped against him as they waited for their heart rates to return to normal. Once he managed to breathe in more deeply though, he lightly clicked his tongue and rolled over, hand still on Yata’s midsection.

“I don’t feel like getting cleaned up right now,” he muttered.

Yata hummed as he languidly sat up.

“Should’ve thought about that sooner, huh?”

Fushimi sat up too, only to kiss Yata’s temple again and immediately got off the bed in search of new clothes to take with him to the bathroom. He was quiet as he went, but Yata knew what to listen to as the sound of his footsteps made their way down the hall- sounding sleepy, and awfully unguarded.

They were, without the shadow of a doubt, the strides of a man who was peacefully at home.


End file.
